


Scottie

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, John's daughter, M/M, Mary Dies, WIP, in childbirth, like in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mary dies in childbirth, Sherlock is left to pick up the pieces of John and help him raise his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scottie

Sherlock drummed the fingers of his left hand against his thigh, trying to keep his focus away from the other people in the waiting room. There was a woman to his left ( _obsessive-compulsive, here for her sister_ ), a man on his left ( _guilty, cheating on his wife with a man_ ), and an elderly couple across from him wearing matching World’s Best Grandparents sweatshirts ( _grandfather excited, grandmother disappointed_ ). Sherlock sighed quietly and focused on his kneecaps. He retreated into his own mind automatically, frowning when his brother - well, his mind’s manifestation of his brother - was there waiting for him.

“Hello, Sherlock,” Mycroft greeted him. Sherlock immediately walked away from him, but Mycroft just appeared in front of him, smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, what?” Sherlock asked, exasperated. Mycroft folded his arms across his chest.

“There’s a reason you came here,” Mycroft prodded. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You know what it is, I don’t have to tell you.”

“I came here because I’m bored,” Sherlock defended. Mycroft clicked his tongue and walked around Sherlock, circling him. Sherlock raised his chin, just an inch.

“You came here because you don’t want to think about it,” Mycroft accused. Sherlock kept his eyes on Mycroft, his gaze following him as Mycroft moved. “You came here because you want to forget, just for a second, what you’re doing.”

Sherlock swallowed, his eyes flicking down before he steeled himself. “I’m doing this for John.”

“Of course you are.” Mycroft stopped moving, his searching gaze skimming over Sherlock’s expression, studying him. “Just for John. No regard for yourself, what this is doing to you.” Mycroft stepped closer, getting in his brother’s face. Sherlock, to his credit, did not move. “John’s here with Mary, having a child. A physical manifestation of the fact that he has moved on from you.”

“Stop,” Sherlock said, firmly. “Stop it.”

Mycroft leaned back. “Face it, little brother. You’re-”

A hand landed on Sherlock’s shoulder, and he snapped out of his mind into reality. He looked up from his knees at John. He took him in quickly - his bloody scrubs; his white, drawn face; his quick breaths. As Sherlock observed him, John fell to his knees. Sherlock hurried to catch him, sliding out of his chair to hold John up from the ground.

“She’s dead,” John whispered near Sherlock’s ear, and Sherlock’s heart sunk into the bottom of his stomach. “Mary. Mary’s dead.”

Sherlock pulled John closer, wrapping his arms around him. He tried to ignore the way his heart lightened at the knowledge that it was _Mary_ who was dead, not the child. Mary, who betrayed John, who lied to John, who shot and killed Sherlock, who got to keep John when he did not-

He ignored that. He tucked John’s head under his chin.

“Your daughter?” Sherlock asked, softly, trying to keep his voice down. John shook his head, drawing his face down and into Sherlock’s chest.

“She’s okay.” John’s hands grabbed at Sherlock’s coat of their own accord, his body subconsciously seeking out an anchor.

“What’s her name?” Sherlock pushed, trying to keep John’s focus on him, trying to keep him from retreating into himself. He had little knowledge on how to handle such a situation, particularly when he had nowhere near any idea what John was feeling or how to help him.

“I-I don’t know,” John stammered. He raised his head a bit. “Mary.”

“Mary,” Sherlock breathed. “Lovely. And?”

“And what?”

“A middle name,” Sherlock reminded him. “Hamish. The like.”

John hesitated. “Scott.”

Sherlock shut his eyes. “Scott’s a boy’s name.”

“Her middle name is Scott,” John repeated firmly. Sherlock just nodded, his eyes still shut, and pressed his face against the top of John’s head.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sherlock promised. John shook his head and groaned, and Sherlock just tightened his grip on him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just the beginning of an idea I had. WIP. I kind of know where this will be going, but I'm mostly playing it by ear.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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